Circumstantial evidence
by Arienhod
Summary: Sherlock Holmes knew it won't be an easy case. But he wasn't aware of all those involved and how much they had to lose. When an unexpected twist makes things even more complicated Sherlock has to keep his vow to John and Mary without breaking his promise to Molly. Sequel to First dance.
1. Chapter 1: All for a case

**Welcome to Chapter 1 of the sequel to First dance!**

**Standard disclaimer stands: I don't own a thing.**

* * *

The persistent knocking on the front door of the house where John and Mary Watson lived for almost a year now woke up the retired army doctor. He rolled around in bed and groaned. He knew it, he knew the peace could not last long.

To be honest he was actually surprised it lasted this long. It's been almost a whole month now since the last case Sherlock accepted. It was a simple one and the consulting detective was disappointed when it turned out to be quite dull. Luckily his personal life was anything but. Just few days prior to the case Sherlock managed to patch things up with his favorite pathologist and they seemed quite content together. John was actually expecting a text to come to Baker Street and accidentally catch them snogging on the sofa in the sitting room. That is if Sherlock even knew how to do that. Hopefully Molly was a good teacher.

But the text he expected never came.

It seemed Sherlock Holmes decided to take a break of solving cases or something similar to that. Either that or he now dragged Molly along with him. John could easily see them discussing things on the crime scene and having dinner afterwards at Angelo's.

One would expect John Watson to be jealous at the thought of being replaced but it suited him just fine. He was still Sherlock's best friend and would always be willing to help the detective but it was nice to be able to enjoy some quiet time with his wife. His pregnant wife.

John grinned at that thought and wanted to snuggle in closer to Mary when the knocking started again.

"Go and let your friend in before he knocks a hole in our front door." Mary muttered and pulled the cover up to her chin.

John sighed, got out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown, before opening the bedroom door, "He's your friend too." He muttered.

"He was your friend first." Mary responded and rolled over in the warm bed. Moving towards John's side of the bed she placed her head on his pillow and deeply inhaled his smell before sighing contently.

That content didn't last long. It was all over when John returned to the bedroom and said their neighbor, Mrs. Kate Whitney, needed their help. So Mary Watson left the comfort of the bed and joined her husband in the sitting room where the older woman waited for them.

"It's Isaac." She explained when Mary joined her on the sofa, "He didn't come home last night and this morning when I went to him room the bed was untouched. He never came home. I tried to call the police but they said I have to wait 24 hours before he can be reported as missing. They said he probably just ran away because that's teenagers do. What kind of person tells that to a worried mother?"

John and Mary glanced at each other. They agreed with the woman, you don't say things like that when someone asks for your help because their child is missing.

"You obviously need Sherlock Holmes' help." John said and Mrs. Whitney looked at him confused.

"Who's help? Is that like a search dog? Should I get something Isaac's so he can follow his trail? Because that may not be necessary, I believe I know where my son is but I can't go there. Not on my own."

Mary bit the inside of her cheek not to laugh. Sherlock was called a lot of things but never a search dog. It wasn't all that wrong of a description though. Give the consulting detective a trail and he will follow it until he finds out who committed a crime he's solving. She'll never tell that to his face though. She'll share it with Molly.

"No." John interrupted her trail of thoughts, "Sherlock is a detective."

"Doesn't matter." Mrs. Whitney said, "I just need someone to go and see if Isaac is where I think he is. It's an old abandoned house where junkies hang out. I can't go there myself."

Mary hugged the older woman who started to sniff and gave her husband a pointed look. John merely nodded, "I'm going to need the address."

Kate Whitney nodded and handed him a piece of paper she took from her pocket, "I knew those friends of his were no good when I first saw them. But my Isaac wouldn't listen."

"We'll get him back home, alright?" Mary was calming the woman while John rushed upstairs to change out of his pajamas, "Do you want to wait here till we-?"

"No, I'll wait home. I'll make some soup for Isaac." She answered, "Thank you."

Mary nodded quietly and watched the woman walk away and enter hew own house two doors down. Mary just turned around to enter the house again when John walked by her and towards the car. Instantly she took the key from the lock on the inside, shut the door, locked them, and followed her husband to the car.

"I'm coming with you." She said opening the passenger side door.

"You can't go, you're pregnant." John tried to reason with his wife but Mary was having none of it.

"Well then you can't go either, because I'm pregnant." She answered and grinned as her John sighed and sat in the car without saying another word. She knew she won.

* * *

John stopped on the large deserted parking lot of the house that now served as a drug den. He wasn't certain what it used to be before it was abandoned, a hotel perhaps, or maybe a nursing home. What ever it was it was quite large with big wooden front doors that seemed to resist the elements quite well.

As he walked towards the door he could feel the tire iron with every step he made. It was an impulsive decision, to take the metal rod along for protection, but it made him feel a bit safer. And according to Mary it was a tiny bit sexy. Hopefully he won't encounter someone who will give him too much trouble.

He banged at the large door with a closed fist and could hear the echo from inside but nothing else. No sound of footsteps or someone speaking. No one was coming to let him inside. Perhaps there was no one inside and Mrs. Whitney had the wrong address. But still he felt obligated to check.

The doors opened surprisingly easy and without much noise. John actually expected them to squeak loud enough to announce his arrival to anyone who is currently inside. Obviously they were used far often then one would expect from a building that supposed to be deserted.

The entrance hall was large with a spiral staircase on the left leading to the first floor. But before he went upstairs he wanted to check ground floor.

"Isaac?! Isaac Whitney?! Are you here?!" John called as he walked down the wide hallway that led directly from the main entrance to the back side of the house. But the rooms on the both sides were deserted, the doors either opened or completely missing from the hinges.

"Upstairs then." The retired army doctor muttered and returned to the entrance hall before slowly climbing the instable stairs.

Once on the first floor John walked down the short corridor before he entered the large open space. It seemed like the entire first floor was one big room with only several pillars supporting the ceiling from collapsing.

The smell reminded John of the time he spent in Afghanistan, the stench of unwashed bodies and disease. This was no place for anyone, let alone for a fifteen year old boy. He just hoped the kid was here and well, as well as he can be anyway, and that he is alive, so he can return him home to his mother.

"Isaac? I'm looking for Isaac Whitney." He spoke as he passed dozen lost souls lying motionless on the mattresses on the floor. He was thankful Mary agreed to stay in the car for this part. His pregnant wife should never see something like this.

"Isaac?" he asked noticing a youth sitting up, leaned on the wall behind him. The kid groaned in recognition of his name and tried to open his eyes.

John kneeled down on the filthy floor next to an equally filthy mattress and took the boy's face in his hands, "Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

"Doctor Watson? Where am I?" the kid mumbled a question.

"Somewhere you shouldn't be. Your mother is worried about you." John answered.

"So you came for me?" Isaac was looking a bit better with every second.

"Of course. Do you think I know a lot of people who come to places like these?"

John was helping the kid in his attempt to stand up when he sense a person behind him standing up as well, groaning a bit as he did, and approach them. He reached for the tire iron and was ready to take it out and defend both of them when a deep voice he knew all to well shocked him.

"Oh, hello, John. Here with the car, are you? I could use a ride as well." Sherlock spoke casually; completely unaware his best friend was close to a hissy fit that would match Mary's hormone fueled ones.

"You…" he mumbled under his breath and turned away towards the consulting detective and took Isaac by the elbow, "Let's go. Your transport is waiting."

"John?" Sherlock called after him still standing on the same spot.

John Watson somehow managed to stop himself from shouting and instead growled at him, "Come on!"

Mary was retying her dressing gown and just happened to glance up to see three men approaching the car. And then she did a double take when her brain registered there was one man too many. Isaac was walking in front and behind him John was arguing with Sherlock, of all people.

The consulting detective looked completely different than the way she was used seeing him. Gone was the nice suit and instead he had a tracksuit on, one that hung on his body. And was rather filthy as well.

She opened the door and got out of the car just as Isaac reached it.

"Hi, Mrs. Watson. Can I go inside?"

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead." She answered absently; she was too preoccupied with her husband and his best friend arguing.

"I'm not buying this nonsense Sherlock!" John was shouting, "If there really was a case you would have called me! Just admit it Sherlock, you started doing drugs again! You aren't really on a case!"

"Well I'm not now!" Sherlock turned towards John and jelled back, "You ruined everything! I was undercover! I didn't even use my own name!"

"Oh, no? Which name did you use? You're junkie name? Shezza perhaps?"

"Oh, don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock frowned and turned away towards the car, finally noticing Mary standing there, "Hello, Mary."

The blonde woman shook her head, "A case? No case if worth you starting to use drug again and hurt Molly in the process."

"I'm not hurting Molly. I'm clean." He protested but the Watson's obviously didn't believe him.

"You drive." John told Mary as he walked to the passenger's side, "I have a phone call to make."

"Who are you calling?" Sherlock asked as he took a seat in the backseat next to a rather confused looking kid.

"Molly." John told him before he turned towards Mary and explained, "Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar."

They ignored a groan that came from behind them from the larger child in the backseat and drove straight to Saint Bartholomew's hospital. If there was one person that could and would make sure Sherlock returns on the right track, that was Molly Hooper. They were aware how much out of his comfort zone Sherlock went when he first admitted he had certain feelings for the lovely pathologist, first to himself, then to John and Mary, and then eventually to the woman in question.

They were together for a month now, since that nice evening when they managed to reenact the wedding reception for just the two of them, and it would be a shame if all that was destroyed just because Sherlock succumbed to the addiction again.

"Call Kate Whitney, while you're at it." Mary said handing John her phone, "Let her know we found Isaac and will bring him home shortly. Don't mention we're going to the hospital first, it will only upset her."

John nodded in agreement to his wife; the older woman shouldn't believe their little detour is because there is something wrong with her child when in fact they are going to Barts to deal with a much bigger child. One that obviously needs constant supervision.

Speaking of supervision, John had every intention to talk to Molly as to why she didn't paid more attention to the clear signs Sherlock was using again. He practically lived in her flat according to Mrs. Hudson. He only came to Baker Street for few hours each day and spend very few nights sleeping there, those were probably the nights when Molly was working the night shift.

* * *

John was leading the little group down the corridor towards the morgue, Mary and Isaac were trailing behind him, and Sherlock was stomping his feet few steps behind them. He was obviously trying to delay the unavoidable. Something the retired army doctor fully expected. But as long Sherlock didn't try and make a run for it he wasn't going to say anything.

"Oh, Molly. You're here, good." John spoke as he entered the morgue.

"Hello, John." Molly answered and then noticed the three other people that entered behind her friend. She right away walked to Mary, gave her a hug, and then smiled at the teenager that wiggled his fingers at her.

"I need you to perform a drug test." John was dead serious and Molly looked at the kid standing next to Mary in confusion. He was obviously under the influence of something, but the concluded John simply wanted to know what the teenager was using for some reason.

"He doesn't mean Isaac." Mary explained, noticing the look her friend sent the boy.

"Who then?" Molly asked, honestly confused.

John snorted, "Are you seriously going to stand there and claim to be ignorant of Sherlock using drugs again?"

"What?" Molly's eyes widened as she focused on Sherlock who instantly rolled his eyes.

"Stop attacking Molly, John. I'm not using any drugs."

"Yes, I know." John turned towards his friend and snarled, "It's for a case."

"It is for a case." Molly confirmed casually and John shook his head.

"Are you seriously going to cover for him? I just found him in a drug den!" John Watson was pissed and he was making it known, loudly.

"Just because I was in a drug den doesn't mean I was doing drugs." Sherlock pointed out before focusing on Molly, "Can I have a jar? I better go and get you a sample before John gets an aneurysm for nothing."

"Doing drugs isn't nothing, Sherlock!"

"Well, I'm not doing drugs right now. I haven't in years." Sherlock pointed out before adding, "Lestrade was very clear I get to pick between drugs and cases so I went to rehab and been clean since."

"I'll believe it when I see it." John said calmly and Sherlock sighed, took a jar Molly handed to him and went to the restroom.

* * *

The silence surrounded the five people in the laboratory as Molly finished the testing and moved so John Watson could double-check her findings. The man was currently standing leaned to the lab bench with his arms crossed over his chest and sending a death glare to a chart on the wall.

"I would never hurt Molly like that." Sherlock was first to break the silence, "She has given me a chance that I didn't deserve considering how I treated her in the past. I would never do something so stupid like start taking drugs again and ruin the best thing that happened to me in a long time."

"I know." John muttered.

"And yet you were willing to believe I went to a drug den and got high." Sherlock pointed out, "Even though Molly herself said I am currently on a case and was in that place for that reason, and for that reason only. She would never cover for me. If I was indeed doing drugs she would have contacted you and Mary, and Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even Mycroft. I wouldn't put it pass her to go as far as to call my parents and inform them. And she would most definitely slap me for doing something so stupid. Repeatedly."

"So it's all for a case?" John asked, finally accepting his friend didn't suddenly become an idiot and went back to doing drugs, "What kind of case?"

"A big one. And I could use your help with it tonight." Sherlock's answer was vague.

"Will it be dangerous?" Mary asked concerned for her husband's safety.

"No." Sherlock answered shortly before adding, "I would never get John shot if that's what worries you."

"No, you would just get me drugged." John offered and Molly snickered.

"It was one time!" the consulting detective protested but his friend obviously disagreed.

"It was bloody well more then just one time. Or did you forget that time when you wanted to test-"

"Alright, I drugged you twice. Happy now?"

"No. I will be happy when I get a refund for that Wednesday I can't remember. I had a date that day."

"How do you know you had a date if you can't even remember that day?" Sherlock frowned and John merely rolled his eyes. There was no arguing with an overgrown child.

"So at what time should I expect John back home?" Mary asked.

Sherlock shrugged, "We won't be late. Just have to go to a place to get something."

"Oh good God, that can't end well." John muttered.

"Around nine. Shouldn't take longer." The consulting detective offered a time frame ignoring his friend's comment.

"And that will be it?" Molly suddenly asked, "After today the case is closed?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered shortly and watched his better half, in the lack of more appropriate words he was willing to use to describe what Molly was to him, gave a breath of relief. To be honest he felt the same way.

Some aspects of this case were rather tedious and he couldn't wait until they were out of his life, hopefully forever.


	2. Chapter 2: Spare girlfriend

**I wasn't expecting it would take this long to update but I came to a conclusion I hate writing chapters that follow an episode because I don't want to post a transcript but can't avoid using some lines that are needed. So basically this is the third version of the chapter.**

**Also, my room got a makeover and I'm still making minor adjustments a week after.**

* * *

John followed Sherlock out of Barts and into a cab that waited for them. Molly used her phone application to get one for them since Mary was driving Isaac back home to his worried mother in their car. Of course they all could have gone together but for some reason Sherlock insisted that only he and John go to Baker Street.

The Watson's shared a look but neither of them said a word and instead nodded in agreement. It saved time to just agree with the consulting detective.

The ride was silent for several minutes until John took out his cell phone and began to write a message.

"Who are you texting?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

His suspicious was confirmed, when after several moments of silence, John answered, "Mycroft."

The detective groaned and leaned his head back at the headrest, "You are texting my brother. Why?"

"Because I informed him previously where I found you and thought he should know-"

"Thank you John." Sherlock was glaring at his friend, "You informed the most meddling person possible where I was this morning. How swell. I'm quite certain he's not having people in Baker Street digging through my things." The sarcasm was positively dripping.

"It's for your own good."

"I'm an adult. I don't need either you or Mycroft to stick your noses in my business. If anyone has the right to do that is Molly and she knows exactly what is going on and why I was where I was."

John frowned and looked out the window. The driver was waiting for the light to change back to green and the doctor hoped it would happen soon. The tension inside the car was almost unbearable.

He was partially at fault for that. He shouldn't have informed Mycroft Holmes his brother spent the night in the drug den before he got confirmation that Sherlock was indeed using again. But this whole case story was rather difficult to be believed in.

What kind of case does require for Sherlock, for anyone really, to stay with junkies? It made absolutely no sense.

He knew Sherlock would explain everything once they arrive and that was another reason why he wished the damn cabbie would drive faster.

And while John Watson was lost in his own thoughts Sherlock took advantage of the silence to go through his plan once more. All the players were in position and he had the schedule memorized. Only thing left to do was to buy a certain item and show up at a restaurant on time to catch his mark there before his appointment.

He couldn't help but recall Molly's reaction when he informed her of a certain detail in his plan. She looked disappointed in him and he almost decided to give up the case just for her. But they talked and came to a conclusion it had to happen; it was his best chance to get access to a certain highly protected office.

He knew it reminded her of the time he used her for access to the morgue and to body parts he needed for experiments. He would give her false compliments and smiles that would fade away from his face the moment she turned her back to him. Before it didn't bother him that he deceived her like that, before he was a different person.

It was during his short stay with Molly right after the fall that he realized she knew what he was doing all along. It never even crossed his mind until then that she could have seen through his mask long before that night in the lab when she took him by surprise by revealing she knew he was sad. By saying she didn't matter. Something started to change inside him that evening, something woke up. But he didn't understand that that was until he returned and saw here again.

She was just as he remembered. But she was someone else's. And then he made new mistakes and almost missed the possibly last chance.

It's been a month now since that day at her flat when he surprised her, when they shared their first dance. It wasn't the last one, though.

The cab stopped and Sherlock paid the driver before he and John exited the vehicle. He could see his friend observing him closely when he took out the money from his pocket and knew exactly what John thought. That he had that money on him in case he decided to buy drugs after all.

He was wrong, of course. Sherlock had money on him because he planned to buy flowers and have them delivered to Molly at Barts as a surprise.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" was the first think that came out of Sherlock's mouth when he opened the door and entered the foyer at Baker Street, "John said he informed you it was a false alarm."

"I merely wanted to see for myself." Mycroft answered observing his younger brother from head to toe before frowning. Sherlock sure did look like a junkie dressed in a dirty tracksuit and smelling almost like a dumpster.

"You've seen it, now go away!" Sherlock snapped at his older brother and stomped up the stairs towards his flat. Luckily it was empty, he already started to suspect Mycroft hired someone to snoop around and see if they could find some drugs. Maybe even Anderson and his fan club.

"I am worried about you Sherlock. It's for a case you say? What kind of case requires you to go to a drug den?" Mycroft asked and John leaned on the doorframe with his hands crossed over his chest waiting for the answer as well. He wanted to know the same thing.

"I was hired to return something from a certain individual that is using those items for blackmail." Sherlock answered.

John shook his head and moved to sit in his armchair, "Could you be more specific?"

"Charles Augustus Magnussen."

The mention of that name got Sherlock Mycroft's full attention. His older brother looked like he swallowed a lemon and it took him longer then usual to return the mask of indifference on his face. It was obvious he was disturbed by the name-dropping.

"Leave him alone Sherlock. No matter what kind of case it is it's not worth it." Mycroft said.

Usually Sherlock would ignore his brother and his warnings but the warning in Mycroft's voice intrigued him, "If I didn't know better I would think you are protecting him Mycroft."

"I'm not. I'm protecting you. If you go against Magnussen you will find yourself going against me."

"And that should worry me… because?" Sherlock asked, his voice showing he found the whole thing amusing.

"I am serious Sherlock. Magnussen has friends on high places." Mycroft wasn't giving up.

"No, he has information about people on high places. They are not his friends, they are his puppets. And one of them wants to cut the strings. And no one will stop me from helping to achieve that." Sherlock snapped back before marching to the door and holding them open for his brother, "I know I can't count on you. So it would be better if you leave. I don't want you to overhear anything and then report back to your master."

"He is not my master!"

"Could have fooled me."

Seeing the brothers standing nose to nose John thought now would be a good moment to intervene before things escalated further, "Alright. That's enough. Mycroft, I believe you should leave. He obviously won't listen."

"He never does." Mycroft commented, looking straight into his brother's eyes.

"I would have expected the British government not liking that one man has so much control over everyone." Sherlock commented casually before adding, "Unless that man _is _the British government."

"No one has that much power." Mycroft insisted fully knowing it was futile. His brother wasn't listening anymore. So he nodded his head and walked out of the flat and down the stairs.

Once only two of them remained in the flat Sherlock unzipped the top of his tracksuit and turned to John, "I'm going to take a shower, do make tea in the meantime."

John nodded and followed Sherlock to the kitchen. And while his friend kept walking down the narrow hallway and enter the bathroom John remained in the kitchen, filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove.

He looked around the kitchen and noticed it was suspiciously clean, there wasn't a single experiment left anywhere on the work surface and even the microscope that he could have sworn was permanently glued to the kitchen table was missing from it's usual spot. And John honestly didn't know what to think about that.

If it was any other man's flat he would believe the clutter was gone because of a new girlfriend. But it was Sherlock's and Sherlock didn't do girlfriends. Yes, he had Molly and their relationship was closest to dating Sherlock was probably capable of but John honestly doubted his friend would remove his beloved microscope just to please her or something like that. It was Molly after all; she knew how much he liked that thing.

He made a mental note to ask the consulting detective about all this strange details. And about Molly too, he was certain Mary would like an update about the state of their… thing. The little preview this morning didn't give them much. And hopefully he will also receive a label for their… thing. It's been a month now since everything was fixed between the detective and the pathologist and both John and Mary wondered how things were going between them.

Unfortunately there was a radio silence between the Watsons and Sherlock and Molly for a month and that's enough time for things to progress without either him or Mary finding out about it. That needs to change.

At the sound of door opening John turned towards the bathroom and was just about to inform Sherlock he left the water in the shower on when he noticed it wasn't the bathroom door that opened and it wasn't Sherlock that just stepped in the kitchen.

"Hello, John. Wasn't really expecting you here." Janine said as she pulled down a bit the pale blue shirt she was wearing.

"I… uh… needed to talk to Sherlock about a case." John somehow managed to find his voice and answer.

Janine pointed towards the bathroom over her shoulder and casually asked, "So that's Sherlock in the shower? Wasn't sure if he would be back before I had to go to work, he was undercover for a case last night."

"Yeah, I know." John absently said as he tried to connect the dots as to what the hell was going on here.

"I'll just go and change now."

The retired army doctor nodded without a word and turned off the stove before the water even boiled. If Sherlock Holmes wanted tea he could make it himself, or have his other girlfriend make it for him.

When Sherlock walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in one of his suits, John was standing in the sitting room and looking out the window. Instantly Sherlock noticed his stiff posture and wondered what happened. He got his answer when the door behind him opened again and Janine appeared.

"Morning Sherl." She instantly called and wrapped her hands around Sherlock's neck before kissing him. Much to John Watson's shock.

"Morning." Sherlock answered with a wide smile.

"Oh, John, how is Mary? I haven't heard from her since the wedding. I've been quite busy with work and then Sherl and I bumped to each other at a café three weeks ago and I had even less time."

"She's fine." John answered shortly.

"I'm glad. I was so fortunate to meet her when I first moved to London looking for a job. She was the best neighbor I ever had." Janine said before giggling, "The two of you just started seeing each other and she constantly talked about you."

"I was the same way, I assure you."

"Well, I will have to call her soon and make plans for lunch. Maybe have the two of you over, like a double date."

"She'll love that. I'm sure." John's answers were still short, he was completely baffled.

"Alright then." Janine turned around towards Sherlock and kissed him again, "Have fun with your case. Catch me a bad guy."

Sherlock only smiled at her and watched as she walked towards the door, her keys jiggling in her hand, the light catching on the deerstalker keychain she bought few days ago and instantly informed him of it.

Once Janine was out of sight Sherlock looked at his friend and sighed. The look John was giving him was expected.

"What about Molly?" John asked.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked back and sat in his armchair.

It took John's entire restrain not to strangle his friend, "As far as I know you and Molly fixed things between you a month ago. This morning you said yourself you would never hurt her by taking drugs again. So why in the world do you have Janine staying in Baker Street?"

"I'm afraid that will have to wait." Sherlock took a deep breath and then started to explain the details of his newest case, "I got a case few weeks ago regarding Charles Augustus Magnussen. The man may appear to merely be a newspaper owner but he is so much more. I have a reason to believe he keeps files in the basement rooms of his house, his isolated house, about every, even slightly, important individual. Those files are then used for blackmail. And there are certain letters I must retrieve for my client."

"Janine." Was all John said at Sherlock's monologue, "She is planning a double date Sherlock. What is going on?"

"Oh, for God's sake John, do pay attention!" Sherlock snapped, "I just told you one man knows secrets of most influential people and you are wondering about Janine!"

"Just wondering how your spare girlfriend fits into this whole story?"

A frown appeared on Sherlock's face, "Have you listened to a word I said?"

"You know what? No, I haven't!" John snapped back, "I don't know how close you and Molly got in the past month or if you are in a relationship or something akin to a relationship. But-"

Sherlock jumped out of the armchair, "So, this is what it's about? Molly?"

"Yes!" John shouted, "Molly, the pathologist at Barts that we are all convinced is your girlfriend."

"I told you years ago I don't do girlfriends. I suppose you weren't listening to me then either."

John growled and started to pace around the sitting room. It too was suspiciously clean, just like the kitchen. He intentionally ignored the consulting detective that watched him silently. This whole thing was giving him a headache, it made absolutely no sense.

The sound of doors opening and closing downstairs reminded John that Baker Street had another resident. He wondered for a moment if he should go downstairs and talk to Mrs. Hudson, maybe she knew what's going on. But that idea was soon discarded, he didn't want to bother the older woman who had a heart attack a month ago.

"I don't understand." He finally said after almost ten minutes of silence.

"Which part?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"All of it!" John snapped at him.

The consulting detective sighed, "I need Janine's help with the case. That's why she's here, that's the only reason she's here."

"So you entered a relationship with her because that's the only way she was willing to help you out with the case?" John was still confused where Molly and the… thing between them fit in all that but some things were slowly starting to make sense.

It actually took several moments before Sherlock slowly answered, "Yes?"

It didn't escape his friend that the answer was actually a question and he instantly got angry again, "Does she know she's helping you in a case? Sherlock?"

But Sherlock wasn't really listening; instead he left the flat and was going down the stairs, his Belstaff draped over his hand, "Can we continue this later? There is something I need to get for tonight. I'll send you an address and time, make sure you are there and that you are punctual."

John rushed down the stairs just as Sherlock exited the house and flagged a cab. He tried to stop the consulting detective but was too late. The black car was driving off and all John could do was huff in annoyance and storm back inside. He needed tea and some nice, normal company. Luckily Mrs. Hudson could provide both.


	3. Chapter 3: Did you just

**I had every intention to update this chapter in less then a week after posting the previous one but I reached the point where I just wished the chapter would magically appear rather than write it.**

**So instead of writing this chapter I have: read several 20+ chapter stories, wrote 2 one-shot stories, painted the living room and the kitchen, refolded the clothes in my closet (it looked like a bomb exploded in it), organized a Star Trek marathon with my friends (we watched all 12 movies), and got a dog.**

* * *

Sherlock stopped in front of the glass doors of the restaurant and quickly glanced towards the CCTV camera mounted on the corner of the building opposite. He had no doubt Mycroft ordered his movements to be followed now that he knew who the subject of the investigation was.

He snorted at his brother's belief he would back down just because he told him to. It was like Mycroft didn't know him at all.

He opened the door and entered the restaurant. Instantly, a host greeted him. Quick deduction told him the man was in his fifties, happily married over twenty years, two kids but no grandkids, had two small dogs and a cat, and hated his job. The final deduction was made due to several small stains that proved he didn't care all that much about his own appearance and most likely hoped he would get fired.

Sherlock thanked the host once the man seated him at a table for two next to a window and looked outside. He was still in sight of the camera that had rotated and was focusing solemnly on him.

He made a mental note to inform Mycroft the tax payers don't pay so that he can stalk his own brother on a potential business meeting. Mycroft will without a doubt claim he did it for Sherlock's safety despite both of them knowing he was doing it because of Magnussen. Because that man knew something.

The waiter brought the menu before going to the kitchen to pick an order, leaving Sherlock enough time to pick something. He wasn't really keen on eating, he preferred not to while on a case, but because he needed to wait for Magnussen he also needed to order something and keep the pretense.

Also, he knew Molly would approve of him eating a little something since they both skipped dinner last night when she was called in to help out after a fatal traffic accident.

Screaming startled him and he instantly looked outside, thinking something terrible was going on, but instead only seeing a young boy being dragged away by his mother. It seemed he saw something he wanted and refuse to take a 'no' for an answer.

Turning away from the sight and focusing on the entrance he saw the newspaper magnate had entered while he was distracted. Instantly he scowled himself for it, he needed to be focused if he wanted to get information he required from Magnussen.

A small grin appeared on the older man's face as he spotted Sherlock sitting alone at the table. He waived his two bodyguards away and walked towards the table where the consulting detective was sitting; informing the host in the process he had a meeting and would require a table for four, but needed to greet an acquaintance first.

"Mr. Holmes, I would say it's a surprise to see you here but I have been expecting you." Magnussen said, taking a seat opposite of Sherlock, just as a waiter brought the bottle of wine to the table.

He poured the glass to Sherlock and was about the pour another one but Magnussen waived his hand at him, signaling him not to and to just leave.

"Then we don't have to go through the entire pretense." Sherlock commented as the waiter walked away, leaving them alone, "I believe you know why I'm here."

"A client?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, a client hired me to return something that is currently in your possession."

"Ah, Mrs. Smallwood." Magnussen grinned after leaning back in the chair, "Isn't she such a lovely woman? Bold, proud, meticulous. Smells rather well too, not sure if you noticed."

"I have." Sherlock responded, rather bored with the small talk, but aware he needs to keep Magnussen interested.

"Of course you have, after all you notice everything. Don't you? The great consulting detective." Magnussen leaned towards Sherlock and smiled maliciously, "So, tell me Mr. Holmes… does Miss Hooper smell as delicious too? Claire de la Lune is for younger women after all."

Sherlock instantly sat straighter, "What does doctor Hooper have to do with anything?"

"Oh, not much. She's meaningless to me, most boring person I ever encountered actually. Her only pressure points are you and kittens. But I also know she's one of your pressure points, along with few other people… and heroin. But I won't fall for that one, that information is useless to me. There are more important ones, ones that are worth more."

"Like the certain letters." Sherlock offered.

Magnussen smiled and reached to the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He didn't take the letters out completely, only enough for Sherlock to see they were indeed in his possession. But it was all Sherlock needed. He needed confirmation Magnussen had the letters with him in London and not hidden away in the underground vault in that glass palace of his.

"Tell your client I refused." Magnussen said before taking the wine glass that was in front of Sherlock and taking a sip of the red liquid before spitting it back out, "A waste of grapes. And a waste of my time. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. Do not contact me ever again; you don't have what I want anyway."

"And what is that?" Sherlock asked as the older man was standing up from the table making him stop and look back at the consulting detective.

"Deduce it."

* * *

John was standing for almost ten minutes in front of a tall glass building when a cab stopped in front and Sherlock walked outside. Instantly he scowled. When he received the text message he instantly left his home and drove for almost half an hour to the place where Sherlock told him to wait and not to be late. But who was late in the end? The consulting detective who refuses to explain what this case is all about.

"Is there a reason why you told me to be punctual and then be late yourself?" he instantly asked as Sherlock walked past him towards the entrance. John of course followed.

"I had a sort of a meeting, and then had to acquire an item." Sherlock answered.

"And that's why you're late." John concluded.

Sherlock stopped in his track and waited for his friend to catch up before he faced John and corrected him, "I was not late. I merely told you to be here earlier because I wasn't sure how long I'll be at Barts."

"You were at Barts? You went to see Molly?" John's brain was working overtime, "Does it had anything to do with this morning?"

It took several seconds for Sherlock to realize what John meant and once he did a frown appeared on his face, "Don't be ridiculous, John."

"Once this bloody case is over we are going to it down and have a nice long chat about what in the world is going on in your life."

Sherlock frowned again and continued to walk; his friend's words were not something he wanted to hear. He was Sherlock Holmes; he didn't have long meaningful conversations with anyone.

As he approached the building the detective looked up towards the top floor and a small smile appeared, replacing the frown. According to the building plan the office took the entire South side and all but one window currently dark, meaning everyone were on schedule and the final stage of his plan could be set in motion.

And that one window was the entrance office where the personal assistant that made a rather big human error was currently still working.

Sherlock made one final glance towards John before entering the building, acting like he belonged there, to prevent anyone from stopping him and asking what he was doing there at that time of the evening.

"What's the plan?" John asked after catching up to Sherlock.

"We need to get to Magnussen's office, it's on the top floor and has its own elevator that can only be opened with an access card." Sherlock began to explain and was right away interrupted.

"A card which we don't have." John interjected.

Sherlock obviously wasn't worried because he didn't even bother to slow down. Instead he pulled the access card from his coat pocket, "I borrowed it earlier today from a rather slowwitted bodyguard that refused to move and let me pass. Of course I can't use it; he isn't supposed to be here right now, so I need to improvise."

John watched as his friend moved the card several times over his cell phone, "You are destroying the strip."

"I don't need the strip. I need the faulty access card so that Magnussen's personal assistant has to activate the inter-phone."

"What?" John was completely baffled by that plan, "Are you crazy?! How is that supposed to work? I doubt his assistant will simply let you in."

Sherlock looked at his friend and smiled, "You are forgetting something John. I always have a plan."

"And that plan usually consists of rather idiotic details. For instance, jumping of a building."

"That was one time."

"One time watching you die is more than enough for me Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't pull the access card through the slot, instead he turned towards his friend, "I don't have an intention of putting you through something like that ever again. That's why I made some precautions."

"Like what?" John asked, completely confused. As far as he knew Sherlock didn't do absolutely anything in the past month apart from faking a drug use and a relationship with...

John's eyes widened as he realized what Sherlock meant when he said it was all for a case.

As expected the scanner didn't recognized the card and inter-phone screen came to life. And Janine looked rather shocked at the sight of her boyfriend trying to get access to her workplace.

"_Sherl, what are you doing here?"_

"Let me up and I'll show you." Sherlock answered and John groaned. His friend was such an idiot sometimes.

"_I can't. I could get in a lot of trouble."_ Janine said with a smile, she was glad he wanted to come upstairs even though she wasn't allowed to let him up.

"Oh, come on. Are you really going to make me do it like this? Over a screen?" a wicked smile appeared on Sherlock's face and John couldn't help but feel worried.

"_Do what?"_ Janine giggled and then gasped and had to sit on the chair. On her computer screen was a video feed of Sherlock Holmes holding a little black box with an engagement ring inside.

John's mouth was wide open at that point. He couldn't believe Sherlock would do such a thing, but then again the consulting detective had previously proven to be willing to do just about anything to solve a case. Even drug his best friend with a powerful hallucinogen.

And let's not forget jumping of a building.

"Janine?" Sherlock asked innocently and then gave her a wide smile as the doors of the elevator opened.

John stepped in after Sherlock and couldn't help but observe the consulting detective carefully for any signs of insanity. After few moments he shook his head and decided to ignore his suspicion.

* * *

"So… you just got engaged to get into an office. Does Molly know about it?" he asked shortly before the doors opened so Sherlock didn't had the change to give him an answer.

The front offices were empty, with no soul in sight. Which was odd before Janine supposed to be there waiting for them. She supposed to be excited and giddy and hugging her fiancé and demand he places the ring on her finger. But she was suspiciously absent.

"Did she faint?" Sherlock asked mockingly, "Do women really do that? I'm going to have to ask Molly?"

John stopped and gaped at his friend for a moment before asking, "Are you going to ask her if she fainted when Tom proposed or you plan to propose to her as well to see if she'll faint?"

"Shhh…" Sherlock turned to John, "Not so loud. I don't want Janine to hear you mentioning me proposing to Molly."

John frowned not really understanding what was going on. Did he understand it correctly? Was Sherlock actually planning to propose to the pathologist? Was it that serious between them? It's only been a month since that night at Molly's flat that could, in a way, count as their first date.

He was about to ask all those questions when he noticed something that took his breath away. A pair of legs behind a desk.

"Sherlock…" he called his friend's name as he was rushing to the unconscious woman.

Janine was lying face-down on the floor. There were no signs of struggle or any visible wounds. He gently probed her head and found a bump at the back of her skull. She was hit from behind, never stood a chance against her attacker. Speaking of the attacker…

"He could still be in here." He whispered to Sherlock who was kneeling on the other side of his fake fiance.

Sherlock nodded and stood up, looking around for a moment before sniffing the air. It reminded John of a bloodhound looking for a trail. It's as good description of Sherlock as any other. Once he was on to something he didn't back down.

"Do you smell that? I know that perfume. I've smelled it before." Sherlock muttered and quickly moved away.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, where are you going? He could be armed!"

"If _she_ was then Janine would be dead." Sherlock answered before rushing up the circular stairway to the upper level of the office.

He was annoyed; she should have waited for him to get the letters instead of trying to get them herself. It was incredibly stupid and dangerous. If the police got the wind of it, which was likely considering she assaulted Magnussen's personal assistant, her career could be over. A pity really, he liked her and he didn't like many politicians, but there was something about Lady Elizabeth Smallwood that appealed to him. He deduced her within seconds of meeting her and she didn't have any annoying or ridiculous habits, appeared to be rather kind but had a backbone.

That was probably why Molly had agreed to go along with his plan, with deceiving Janine the way he had. She was present when Lady Smallwood came to see him at Baker Street and was appalled at Magnussen's blackmail.

Sherlock stopped at the side of opened door and peaked inside. He wasn't surprised to see a figure dressed in black standing in the middle of the office but to his surprise Charles Magnussen was present as well. That wasn't a pert of his plan, the man was supposed to be on a business dinner.

Briefly he wondered if her should remain hidden, have Lady Smallwood retrieve the letters herself, but when the faint reflection caught his attention he noticed the figure in front of him held a gun pointed at the kneeling man. He remembered reading about Lord Smallwood committing suicide and wondered if this was revenge for pushing the man over the edge.

No matter, he couldn't let her do it.

"This isn't the right way Lady Smallwood. You hired me to get the letter back, you should have trusted me to do so." He spoke, slowly entering the office.

Magnussen instantly looked at him, his face expression mixture of relief and confusion. He obviously believed he would live now that there is a witness in the room.

"Lady Smallwood?" he asked looking from Sherlock to the person in front of him, "This isn't Lady Smallwood."

Sherlock's head snapped back in surprise at the words and he could almost feel his heart skip a beat as the person in black in front of him turned around and he came face to face with no other but Mary Watson.

"What…" it was the first time in years that he couldn't find the right words.

"Is her here with you?" she asked, "Is John here with you? Answer me!"

"Yes." Sherlock answered briefly and Mary nodded silently, "Mary, what-"

"Stay back. Don't make another step forward or I will be forced to shoot you. I don't want to do that Sherlock." She warned him as he tried to approach her.

"Mary-" Sherlock decided to disregard the warning and stepped forward only to feel a sudden sharp stab in the abdomen that came after a muffled bang.

He looked down and saw a red stain coloring the crisp white shirt he was wearing, slowly spreading from the hole in the material. A gasp escaped him as he tried to comprehend what just happened. She shot him, she really shot him.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, so sorry. But I need to protect him; you of all people understand that." Mary spoke sadly before she suddenly turned around and hit Magnussen in the face with the base of the grip, rendering him unconscious. She looked at Sherlock and took out a burner phone from her pocket.

* * *

"_You need to fall down." Sherlock could hear Molly's voice somewhere on his right and he turned around to look at his pathologist, "You were shot Sherlock; you need to fall down now."_

"_Tell me how." He muttered to the one he could always count on._

"_On your back. The bullet is still in you; it will serve as a tampon and prevent a massive blood loss. It will give paramedics time to reach you, to save you. Fall down Sherlock."_

_He could feel his body losing battle against gravity and hit the floor, on his back like Molly instructed him. And the moment his back touched the hard wood floor a sharp pain that was previously localized now spread to his entire body._

"_Molly, I need you." Sherlock muttered closing his eyes._

"_Focus!" a loud cry followed by a slap made him gasp and open his eyes again. Right away he realized his surroundings changed, "You can't end up here again. I had you on my slab once before, I can't have you lying dead in front of me ever again Sherlock. But I can't help you this time; you need to do it yourself. You need to save yourself."_

"_You are already saving me Molly. Tell me what to do." He whispered, unable to talk louder from the immense pain that clutched his entire body._

"_You managed to delay blood loss. Next thing that could kill you is shock. You can't go into shock; your heart won't be able to handle it. Take deep breaths and calm down." Molly instructed him._

_Sherlock took a weak breath and tried to calm down but he could feel his heart beating forcefully in his chest. Adrenalin was rushing through his vanes, preventing him to do as Molly suggested. _

"_I can't. All I can think it Mary. She shot me!" Sherlock cried out and Molly took his hand in hers._

"_Yes, you can. I know you, you can do it." It was obvious she believed in him more then he believed in himself, "You managed to stay awake for days, eat bare minimum, and still solve the hardest cases. But you need to get your body to work with you again."_

"_I can't!"_

"_Yes, you can!" she yelled at him, "You just need to calm down."_

"_How?"_

"_You have a whole Mind palace at your disposal." Molly reminded him, "Are you telling me you don't have a single happy memory in there. Have you deleted them all? There must be something, something that would always relax you, remind you that you are cared for and that you always have someone willing to help you. Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock closed his eyes again and forced himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the numbing pain in his abdomen, and when he opened his eyes again he was no longer lying down on the cold sterile slab in Barts morgue. He was standing in the middle of Molly Hooper's sitting room._

"_Molly…" he called her name and right away he appeared on his side. She was always on his side, even when he tried to chase her away. When he was rude and condescending, when he insulted her in front of their friends and when he ignored her. Molly was the one who counted the most, the one who saved him, who made his survival possible._

_And he knew she would help him now too. She already had, her knowledge and calmness were the key. Her affection for him was the key._

"_What do you need?" she stepped closer._

"_You." Sherlock answered, and offered his hand, "Dance with me." _


	4. Chapter 4: Déjà vu

**Here is a short, completely unplanned, chapter for all those who are patiently waiting for an update.**

* * *

One phone call. That's all it took for Molly Hooper's easygoing days to end.

One phone call from John Watson and she found herself putting on clothes in a rush and running out the door, almost tripping over her own feet as she rushed down from the forth floor. She wasn't even sure if she locked her flat doors behind herself but at the moment that wasn't important.

She needed to get to the hospital and she needed to get there now.

The night air was biting at her face as she ran down the street towards Barts. It was a blessing that she managed to find a new flat so close to her work place because she wasn't sure she could handle a longer trip, not after the news she just received.

John was very vague and she didn't understand half of the things he said but what she did understand unnerved her. She couldn't help but think about the three post mortems she did in the last two days with the same cause of death and the thought of doing another one terrified her. Especially since it wouldn't be a stranger.

She saw John first, sitting on a plastic chair in the wide hallway. He was turned away from her, his right hand firmly holding Mary's left. The blonde woman said something too quiet for Molly to hear and John nodded silently causing his wife to lean towards him and place her head on his shoulder.

She sniffed and stepped forward, catching the retired army doctor's attention. He leaned towards Mary and whispered, "Molly's here."

His wife instantly stood up and the two women hugged tightly. Molly could feel Mary shaking slightly and tried her best to calm her down but it was no use. Instead she sat on next free plastic chair and waited for the doctor to come out and tell them the news.

John sat opposite of Molly and she leaned forward and took his hand in hers. It was shaking, something that Molly understood completely. After all he was present when it happened, when Sherlock got shot.

"How… John, how… what happened?" Molly was having a hard time finding the right words.

"We managed to get in the office, I don't know if you know all the details of Sherlock's plan so I'll leave it to him to explain exactly how we accomplished that when he wakes up. And he will wake up. He is too stubborn to die, he will outlive God just so he can have the last word." When John's explanation turned to rambling Molly squeezed his hand and he stopped talking, instead he focused on the pathologist.

"I know what he planed… I hated the idea but I understood there was no other way. He tried to figure out how to get inside differently but he simply… he said that was the only option." Molly said sadly. She hated that someone was used by Sherlock the same way he used her before the Fall, or perhaps even worse.

"Well someone found a different way inside; someone was in the office before we got to the top floor. That person knocked out Janine and was in Magnussen's personal office with him. Sherlock must have interrupted an assassination attempt and was shot because of that."

"So, Magnussen is dead?" Molly asked.

She agreed with Sherlock's description of the man, Charles Augustus Magnussen was a vile individual, and she didn't mind one bit if someone killed him. That thought first surprised her, she was never a violent person that wished someone's death, but the past several years had changed her drastically. She no longer harbored illusions that people do evil things because they have no other choice.

She learned that that hard way since starting to work at Barts. She now knew some people are just plain evil down to their bones.

John's voice brought her out of her thoughts, "No. The shooter didn't kill Magnussen after shooting Sherlock. Just knocked him out."  
"Why?" Molly frowned, "It makes no sense. Magnussen was the target, why knock him out after shooting someone else? Why not kill him as well?"

John opened his mouth to respond when Mary muttered, "Maybe the gun malfunctioned, I don't know how that is actually called."

"Malfunction is a good word." John commented, "Or misfire, or jam… It's a good theory. Only one that makes sense at the moment."

"Hopefully Sherlock will manage to describe who shoot him." Molly muttered.

"He will, he was shot in the abdomen, he saw the shooter. She stood right in front of him." John tried to comfort the distressed woman but only managed to make things worse.

"Abdomen? Where exactly? On the left side, right? How high? She? Are you telling me a woman shoot Sherlock?"

"Molly…" Mary took her hand and squeezed lightly, "Molly, you need to calm down. Don't start to hyperventilate on us now."

Molly nodded silently and took several long breaths before leaning her head back on the wall behind her and closing her eyes. She needed to calm down just like Mary said. Watsons observed her, but didn't say another word. Not until she spoke again.

"I was in the bathroom when you first called, taking a shower. Had a long day today. Did a postmortem on a man who killed himself, shot himself, after struggling with depression for over a year since his wife passed away. I thought that was the worst thing that happened to me today. I wish I was right."

Seconds later the doors on the end of the hallway opened and a doctor in scrubs walked through. He noticed them and approached.

"Family of Sherlock Holmes?" he asked.

It wasn't exactly true but John still answered, "Yes."

"Mr. Holmes' surgery was successful. We removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding without a single problem. He is being moved in ICU right now, once he's settled I will have a nurse let you in one by one."

"Thank you." John said and Molly nodded silently. She was grateful for the good news.

It was over half an hour later that the nurse walked out through the same doors as the doctor had and approached the small group hunched at the white plastic chairs.

"Mr. Holmes is awake but groggy due to morphine. The doctor said you can enter one by one." When all three of them nodded to show thy understand the nurse continued, "Now, I believe Mr. Holmes would like to see his girlfriend first since he said her name the moment he was awake." The nurse looked between the two women, "So...Which one of you is Mary?"


	5. Chapter 5: A woman scorned

**I had quite a problem updating this chapter. For some reason Chrome won't open fanfiction page for me so I did a lot of different things to change that. In the end I gave up and tried different browsers till I found one that opens it. **

* * *

Molly hated going to Barts on her days off. But she never learned how to tell Sherlock 'no' when he asked her to come because he needed something. And today was no different. Sort of.

She put on simple jeans and one of her colorful jumpers before leaving the flat and walking the five minutes to the hospital building. She wasn't in a rush like she was three days ago when he got shot. Today she was enjoying the warm weather and considered taking the longer route to Barts. That idea was discarded when Molly remembered Sherlock knew how much time it took to get from her flat to the hospital and she already texted him that she was on her way.

She didn't want him to think something happened along the way.

Sherlock may not be the panicky type but she wasn't risking him calling Greg just because she wasn't there on time. She knew the detective inspector wouldn't have a problem calling for backup if he thought she was in any danger, any with Sherlock's shooter still at large it was better not to take any chances with the overprotective men in her life.

She turned around the corner and came in sight of the hospital entrance when she remembered the awkwardness of three days ago when she entered the ICU room where Sherlock was staying for the time being.

He right away smiled at her, either because he was glad she was there or because of morphine, and extended his hand for her to hold. It was a rare thing for him, to ask for physical contact like that, so she did as he obviously wished, approached the bed and placed her much smaller hand in his before giving it a little squeeze.

She remembered telling him John insisted she went in first and he looked confused, like he couldn't understand why she wouldn't be the one to enter his room before all others. It made her feel special. And when she mentioned the first thing he said was Mary's name his face became a blank mask.

And it scared her.

She was able to read him when no one else, John included, could. But now she got nothing.

"The nurse." He mumbled, "The nurse looked like Mary. I thought it was her."

Molly nodded silently, not believing a word he said. She was familiar with most of the staff in the hospital; after all she worked there for over five years now, and knew for a fact not a single nurse in the Intensive Care Unit looked anything like Mary Watson.

But for everyone's sake she was willing to write it down to Sherlock being groggy from anesthesia and not seeing correctly what the woman in his room looked like. After all, even the mind of the world's only consulting detective can be tricked when under the influence of heavy narcotics. Legal narcotics.

The ping of the elevator doors opening startled Molly and she realized she was inside the hospital building and standing in front of now opened elevator and she had no idea how she got there. So she shook her head and entered.

She really needed to stop spacing out like that, one of this days she'll get hit by a car because of it.

There was no one at the nurse station, something that happens every time there is a new patient that needs to be settled in, so she just walked past and down the long hallway towards the room at the very end.

For someone who worked in a hospital for several years now Molly didn't like the place. The sterile white walls and the smell of disinfectant in the morgue was pretty much all she could stand. That was probably linked to the time her father spent in a hospital room before he died. No one in the morgue suffered, or was in any pain. They were all pass that. But upstairs, in all the different wards, there were living breathing people who were fighting battles they may not win and they knew it. She hated that. That feeling of helplessness. That's why she picked pathology.

Molly didn't bother to knock; Sherlock was waiting for her after all, so she opened the door and entered without announcing her arrival. That surprised a woman that was already inside, sitting at the side of Sherlock's bed. Instantly she recognized Janine Hawkins, Mary's maid of honor in purple, and tried her best not to frown. She had a pretty god idea what Janine was there.

"Hello." She greeted Janine casually and walked around the bed, opposite of her.

Janine greeted back before turning towards Sherlock and notice he was following all Molly's movements with his eyes. She just opened her mouth to speak when Molly took a book out of her large bag and placed it on the bedside table.

"Bees?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." She responded with a smile, "Not a scientific book though. A mystery novel. A good one. This bloke kills people by…"

"Why are you here?" Janine interrupted her. She was honestly curious and a little ticked off that Sherlock instantly started to ignore her the moment the odd girl from the wedding walked in the room. Yes, she remembered her, even though she didn't know her name until Mary mentioned it days later. Of course she remembered the girl in yellow with a silly large bow on her head.

"Sherlock texted me this morning, he's bored here and wanted me to bring him something to read." Molly answered honestly.

"He already has some reading material." Janine pointed the newspaper spread all across the consulting detective's lap.

Sherlock looked at Molly and noticed a small smile on her face. He expected she would be angry, after all she was against certain details of his plan, but she looked amused. Instantly a smile appeared on his face as well. This was why he liked her, one never knew what to expect from Molly Hooper. She was simply full of surprises.

"I've seen those on my way here. Absurd, aren't they?"

"Pardon?" Janine asked, not expecting that kind of reaction.

"Seven times a night? I would have to check my medical journals but I'm pretty confident that that is impossible." Molly commented the first headline she noticed, "Especially with Sherlock's sexual history."

Janine was baffled at that statement and just watched in silence as Molly looked away and focused on the morphine pump. The pump that she tampered with the moment she entered the room. And now Molly was fixing the dosage to ensure Sherlock wasn't in any pain.

"The hat one has a good photo." Sherlock commented and Molly snorted, focusing on him again.

"And highly unlikely story considering how protective you are of the deerstalker. A surprise really since you initially hated it. John said you referred it as an 'ear hat' and constantly complained when a photo of you wearing it was printed. But that must have changed because I remember hearing you snap on Mrs. Hudson just last week when you couldn't find it and thought she hid it from you for some, to the rest of us, unknown reason."

"Yes, some headlines are a bit too much but one is right on the mark." Janine interrupted them by lifting the newspaper and showing Molly the 'shag-a-lot' written in bold black letters. They were ignoring her and she didn't like being ignored, not when she was angry at Sherlock and wanted an explanation. A good explanation. And an apology.

She was completely shocked when Molly leaned forward and muttered, "How would you know?"

A burst of laughter shortly followed by a groan of pain came from Sherlock, making both women turn towards him. While Janine frowned, Molly placed her hand on his forearm and shook her head. He was causing himself pain and she didn't like that.

"You have obviously been spending time with Mycroft." He groaned after the pain subsided.

"Don't you know?" Molly asked jokingly, "We became best friends while you were dead."

"What, you don't believe the article?" Janine asked Molly.

Molly turned her warm brown eyes towards her and shook her head. And to think she was jealous of Mary's maid of honor. Yes, Janine was beautiful and successful, as well as warm and popular among her friends; but Molly wouldn't trade her awkwardness and tiny group of devoted friends for anything.

"It was written by Kitty Riley. If you want people to take you seriously don't have her write anything, her articles are garbage by default. Her career was in shambles and now she's trying to salvage as much of it as she can."

"People still believe it." Janine pointed out and Molly knew it was the truth. People were always willing to believe such stories, despite not knowing all the facts.

"Those who believe it don't matter to me… to us." Molly took Sherlock's hand and he squeezed slightly, a motion that didn't escape his fake fiancés attention, "Those who matter know Sherlock and that he worked hard to fix things between us. We are not dating but we are something and have been for the past month now."

"So you knew?" Janine accused her, "You knew what he was planning to do, what he was doing to me? How can you look in the mirror and not hate yourself for allowing him to use another woman the way he did? What if it was you that he used like he did me? Are you telling me you wouldn't want revenge?"

Sherlock frowned and squeezed Molly's hand again before he focused on Janine, "I have used her. For years I took advantage of her affection for me, gave her cheep compliments, and demanded her assistance in exchange."

"I was against it, against Sherlock's plan." Molly piped in, interrupting Sherlock. She knew he was sincere but also knew part of the reason for his honesty was morphine and she didn't want him to admit all that while under influence of pain relievers. She needed him to say it because he wanted to. And to say it to her and only to her.

"But you eventually agreed to it." Janine pointed out.

"There was not other way. I'm sorry you got hurt in the process but I was there, in Baker Street, when the client arrived and I can completely understand why Sherlock took the case and why he was willing to go to the extreme to solve it."

Janine nodded and stood up from the edge of the bed. Instantly she looked at the newspaper spread on Sherlock's lap and frowned slightly. Molly wondered if it meant she felt guilty for giving all those false interviews. She was aware she felt guilty for her own role in the whole thing. But she knew for a fact she can't doubt Sherlock, she trusted him this long. There was no other way.

Janine seemed to have read Molly's mind, but she had a different opinion on the whole thing, "Say what you will, but it was wrong of you to do what you did. I would have helped if you have told me you needed my help; that you needed to get access to Magnussen's office."

"No." Sherlock muttered, he was feeling a bit better now that Molly fixed the morphine pump, "If you knew then you would be an accomplice. Now you are a victim."

"So this was to protect me?" she looked insulted, "I'm honestly supposed to believe that, you back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard?"

Molly opened her eyes to respond, to protect Sherlock in any way she could and knew but he beat her to it, "Yes, you should, you grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry whore."

A sharp gasp made Sherlock turn towards his pathologist and see her look at him in shock. She never heard him talk like that before. His insults were usually about a person's intellect which she understood; this was a bit more personal.

"So, we're good, then?" Janine asked with a small smile.

Sherlock shrugged slightly before answering, "Yeah, of course."

"Alright then." Janine laughed and took her coat from the bottom of the bed and turned to leave.

"That's it?" Molly was confused, "You two insult each other and then make up again in a matter of seconds."

"I can't be angry at him forever." Janine pointed out with a small grin, "After all I heard stories about Sherlock Holmes before. So I have no one to blame but myself. And you a bit since you are a woman and really shouldn't allow your boyfriend to share his bed with another woman. Case or no case."

"Sherlock's not my boyfriend." Molly corrected the only part of that statement that she didn't considered to be true, "He's… something."

"Well your something's dumb plan got me a nice cottage. Who would think that answering a few questions about Sherlock Holmes would get me such a nice sum of money? The cottage needs some redecorating to fit my style more and I need to get someone to remove the bee hives, but all in all it was a nice purchase." She took out her keys from the purse and jingled them, the deerstalker keychain glittering in the sunlight that came through the tall windows.

Molly and Sherlock watched silently as Janine turned around and left the room. None of them said anything for several minutes, both closed off in their own minds.

Eventually Molly shook her head, circled around the bed and took the plastic chair that was placed next to the door unused by the last visitor. Unlike Janine she didn't want to sit on the bed and disturb Sherlock.

"I wonder how mad Mary will be at you." Molly said with a smile. She liked the new Mrs. Watson and the fact she knew exactly how to handle Sherlock.

"Why?" he asked. She frowned slightly; there was something about Sherlock, something that appeared on his face when she mentioned Mary, but she didn't understand what. And she didn't like that.

"Why?" she repeated the question, not believing he even asked it, "Because she's Mary's friend and you hurt her. Sort of… and she got revenge. Sort of…"

"They aren't that good friends." Sherlock whispered, so silently Molly barely heard him. But she did hear what he said and she was confused.

There was something more going on, something he wasn't telling her. But she knew he wouldn't explain, not until he was ready. That's why she suddenly decided not to ask him about the shooting and instead opted to sit down and tell him about the last post-mortem she performed.

Something told her that was the better option of the two.

* * *

**This chapter is shorter then the ones I usually write but I hope you all like it.  
**


	6. Chapter 6: A matter of trust

**I usually break longer chapters in two but since I made you all wait an entire month for an update I decided to post the whole thing in one go. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

The intern stopped mid-step and turned towards the nurse station. It was currently empty so he didn't have anyone to ask to be completely certain but he was quite convinced that his college didn't released the patient from room 72 during the previous shift. After all the man was still recovering from being shot. Releasing him too soon could and would cause serious complications.

He knew patients almost never did as told after being released from the hospital and in the case of Mr. Holmes such thing could be fatal. One wrong move before the wound is completely healed and all the stitches could rip; a bleeding that severe would require another operation and a longer recovery time.

The papers clipped at the end of the bed were proof that was not the case. The patient was supposed to still be confined to the bed.

After checking the small toilet connected to the room, and finding it empty as well, the intern returned to the nurse station and was about to call security when a man entered the ward and, nodding in his direction, walked in the suspiciously empty room.

Seconds later he exited it and two men looked at each other.

"You are related to Mr. Holmes?" the young intern asked the blonde man who looked more annoyed then worried.

"No, I'm his friend. He escaped, didn't he?"

"Well, this isn't a prison so I wouldn't call it escaping. But yes, Mr. Holmes left without being released."

"And without anyone noticing." The man added, "So basically he escaped."

The intern nodded silently and dialed the number of the main reception. It wasn't a common thing for the patients to vanish but it happened few times that elder people went for a walk through the wards and forgot the way to their rooms. Mr. Holmes wasn't old and senile but he needed to inform the security to look for him anyway. Perhaps he wanted to take a walk as well, in hope it would speed up his recovery like some patients do, and decided to rest along the way.

The visitor had different plans; he took out his cell phone and, before the intern managed to remind him those weren't allowed on the ward, walked out through the glass doors. He didn't hear exactly what was being said but the word "idiot" was easily recognizable, as was "I'll kill him myself".

* * *

It was Molly's day off and she had every intention to stay in her old pajamas the entire time, doing absolutely nothing but eat and watch telly. Maybe read a few chapters of the old, beat up book that was slowly falling apart that she found among her mother's things years ago.

So when a weak knock on her front door, shortly followed by a sound of someone leaning on the wood, she was ready to shout at who ever was at the other side to go away. But a feeling in her stomach caused her to get up of the soft, comfortable couch, put on a dressing gown that hid the washed out pajamas from sight, and patted barefoot to the door.

"Please, don't lean on the door. I'm opening them." She called and then waited few seconds before unlocking and pressing down on the doorknob.

Molly opened the door just a bit and peaked through the doorjamb at the person who knocked before she pulled the door wide open, making it match her eyes as she stared at the consulting detective standing in front of her. The man she knew was supposed to be in bed, in the hospital, recovering from a serious wound that could have killed him if the paramedics got to him just few minutes later than they did.

"Sherlock… what…"

But the detective didn't bother waiting till she found the right words to ask him what he was doing there and why he was out of the hospital. Instead he walked pass her and sat in the armchair next to the couch. The armchair that became his soon after he and Molly became that something they still haven't defined, despite both of them knowing what that something was.

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Once she exhaled she closed the door that was still wide open and returned to her previous position on the tan couch. But while she was completely relaxed before the surprise visit right now she was tight as a spring, ready to jump up again and call the paramedics at first little clue that Sherlock was feeling any pain.

Several minutes passed in silence, minutes in which Molly's worry slowly turned into anger. But she remained quiet, and let Sherlock ponder on what ever was currently stuck in that big brain of his.

"Aren't you going to make me tea?" Sherlock finally spoke and Molly had the urge to hit him with a pillow that was lying innocently right in front of her. Luckily for him she refrained herself.

Sherlock's eyes never left Molly's form as she got up from the couch and walked to the small kitchen. He watched her fill the kettle with water and turn it on, take two large cups from the cupboard and drop teabags inside before reaching to the fridge to get the milk.

He loved doing that, just watch her do mundane things with her incredibly steady hands.

For a moment he wished he was a normal man, a man who would walk down the street with the woman he loved, her hand in his, their fingers interlaced. A man who didn't have a problem voicing his feelings or acting on them. A man worthy of Molly Hooper.

But he wasn't ordinary like his parents. He was different like Mycroft, and like his brother he believed loving someone makes a person weak. A belief that was slowly being torn down, just like a wall around his heart, by a mousy pathologist from Saint Bartholomew hospital.

A sound of a cup being placed in front of him made Sherlock focus back on his pathologist after his mind wondered off. She was back on the couch, her feet covered with a soft afghan, and a second cup of tea in her hands.

"Are you going to tell me now how and why you left the hospital?" she eventually asked; never even looking in his direction; instead focusing on the steaming liquid.

But just as Sherlock opened his mouth to answer her phone rang, piercing the silence with a sound of cheerful violin music. Instantly he frowned, not only because he had a pretty good guess who was the caller but because his Molly had such ridiculous sound on her phone. If she wanted violin music she could have said so. He would have played for her.

In fact he did play for her. He composed for her. So why wasn't that playing?

"I'm not here and you are surprised I would do something so reckless like leaving the hospital before I recovered." Sherlock instructed right before Molly accepted the call.

"Hello, John? How are you? How's Mary?" Molly asked and Sherlock smiled, pleased with her acting abilities, "What do you mean… he what?" a frown appeared on Molly's face and she sighed, "No John. I haven't seen him… God, I wish I was surprised but I'm not. It's just like Sherlock, isn't it? Doing something so reckless, like leaving the hospital before he was recovered and discharged. Have you called Greg already?" Sherlock frowned at the name, who was Greg, "Alright, I can help look for him too." Now it was Sherlock's time to frown, he didn't want her to leave, he needed her there in the flat, "Oh, alright. Let me know if there's any way I can help. Good luck."

"I can explain everything." He spoke the moment she disconnected the call.

"Please do." Molly muttered.

"But not now."

"Sherlock!" she snapped at him, "I have just lied to John and I want to know why! Why did you leave the hospital when your wound is nowhere near being healed enough for you to get discharged by a doctor? You know what a doctor is, don't you? It's the person who patched you back together after you did something incredibly stupid and got yourself hurt! A person with a medical degree, and who certainly knows better then you, if a patient is well enough to leave the hospital! John is a doctor, I am a doctor! You on the other hand are NOT a doctor! So why did you leave the hospital?!"

"Can I speak now?" Sherlock asked, observing Molly with a small smile. She didn't get this angry often but when she did it was rather fun to observe as she waived her hands to emphases her point, and the way her face flushed and her eyes sparkled. When she gets angry she gets passionate about what she's saying.

Of course it's always more fun to watch it as an observer and not the person who made her this angry.

"Yes, you can speak now. And you better explain yourself William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

Sherlock winced, not from pain but from hearing her scowl him using his full name. It was like he was a child again and his mother just found out he dug out her flowers because he was convinced there was a chest with treasure underneath. There wasn't. Mycroft lied.

"I left because I'm setting up a trap."

"Is this still for that damn case?" Molly interrupted him.

"No." Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing, he knew what he was about to say won't calm her down. It's highly possible it will have the completely different effect, "I'm going to trap my shooter tonight."

The silence that followed his explanation was so uncomfortable Sherlock intentionally slurped his now cold tea just to create noise, any noise.

"You know who the shooter is." Molly eventually spoke. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. She knew that he knew exactly who it was in Magnussen's office.

"Yes." He confirmed it anyway.

"They why did you tell Lestrade the person wore a mask? Why are you protecting someone who almost killed you?"

Sherlock lowered his head and after few seconds asked of Molly what he knew she was willing to do any other day, but he wasn't sure if she would do it today as well, "I need you to trust me Molly. The truth is more complicated then it seems and I don't know all the facts. Yes, I know 'who' but the 'why' is what's bothering me. I need to know what's going on."

"What you need to do is call Lestrade and tell him the truth and then call John and tell him where you are."

"I will call him. John, I mean… but not just yet. Molly do you trust me?"

Sherlock focused on Molly's warm brown eyes and recognized the exact moment when she decided to let him do his thing, "You know I do. And that's why I have to let you do this your own way. But I want the truth, Sherlock. The whole truth."

"And you will receive it in few hours. I won't leave you out of the loop."

"You better not, or I'll leave you out of body parts to experiment on." Molly threatened.

Sherlock smiled slightly at the threat because while he knew she would actually do it, another threat would have worked better. He would have been more inclined to do as she demanded if she threatened he would find himself without her.

"I plan to have everything resolved tonight at Baker Street. So be there at 10 tonight."

"You plan to set up a trap at Baker Street? With Mrs. Hudson there?" Molly was starting to doubt the sanity of his plan.

"No. My trap will be elsewhere, I'm in a possession of the most useless piece of property in London. It's in Leinster Gardens. So what I need you to do is to tell that to the first person who is smart enough to come to visit you and ask if you know any of my bolt holes."

"You suspect the shooter knows you left the hospital and will follow one of the people who are trying to find you. Won't that put them in danger?"

"No. No one will be in any danger." Sherlock tried to calm her down but even he knew that was pointless. Molly worried about him and about all her friends; it's just how she was.

"You said the same thing when you broke in Magnussen's office. And then you got shot."

"Ah, but I didn't break in. Janine let me in the office."

"You are seriously going to use that argument, Sherlock?"

After few seconds of pondering Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "Yep."

Molly snorted and got up from the couch again to take the empty cups to the kitchen, "You should probably change before you go."

"My things?" Sherlock's head snapped in her direction.

"Are in my bedroom. I picked them up from the hospital for you. The shirt is ruined, but the suit is fine. It's washed and hanging in the wardrobe, your Belstaff is keeping it company."

"Thank you Molly. I know I don't say it often but I would be lost without my pathologist." He spoke before getting up and heading in the direction of the bedroom.

Molly leaned from her position in front of the sink and looked in Sherlock's direction. He was currently wearing green scrubs he nicked at the hospital and she couldn't help but wish he was in a hospital gown. One that was tied at the back.

That would be the best payment for all the trouble he put her through in the past several days, what between worrying her after he got shot and meeting his fake girlfriend. Not to mention this new plan of his that includes meeting his shooter in an abandoned building without any backup. Or hopefully with John as backup.

Molly washed both cups and placed them on the rack to dry before moving back to the couch. She took her book off the coffee table and opened it at the page where she previously stopped reading moments before her bedroom door opened and Sherlock walked in the sitting room, now properly dressed but without his beloved coat.

She chose to ignore him as he sat down on the armchair and took her cell phone. At first she believed it was because he didn't have his own at the moment, before she remembered it was on a chest in her bedroom, on a visible place, charging after the battery started to beep signaling it was empty. But it should be fully charged by now.

She was about to get up, once more, and go check when a question took her by surprise.

"Why do you have that strange music as your ringtone?"

"What?" she was confused.

"That cheerful violin music. I left you the CD with the composition I wrote just for you, we danced to it just a month ago. Why isn't that playing when someone calls?"

"Because it plays when you call." Molly answered with a smile, "And only you. And the ringtone I assigned to John isn't strange. It's an acclaimed piece by an award winning composer."

Sherlock placed the phone down on the coffee table and leaned back in the armchair. He was pleased she did in fact have her composition on her phone and that it played when he called her. Only problem was he rarely ever called. He texted all the time but only called one in a month or so.

"Which award?" he eventually asked.

"For that particular music an Oscar. It's from a movie and it reminded me of John for some reason. It's called Concerning Hobbits."

"Hobbits?" Sherlock looked at her and frowned.

"From The Lord of the Rings books, and… well… movies. Please tell me you know what I'm talking about."

"Of course I do. I'm just wondering if you picked that music because John reminds you of a hobbit."

Molly smiled, "Because of his friendly personality?"

"Because he's short."

"Sherlock!"

The cell phone rang again, this time a different melody played, one that caused Molly to groan. It was her boss and the fact he called on her day off could only mean one thing.

She was needed at Barts.

* * *

John was sitting in his armchair at Baker Street and tried to remember any other possible location where Sherlock could be hiding. But he ran out of ideas after several hours of looking all around London with the help of Lestrade and Anderson, of all people. Mary was helping them as well for a while but she returned home after a while when her morning sickness kicked in.

Mrs. Hudson was currently in the kitchen, sorting through some things Sherlock left on the counter, and every once in a while offered to make him tea or something to eat. But he wasn't hungry and didn't want any tea. He wanted to find Sherlock and shout profanities at the consulting detective that had the unique ability of making him immensely angry.

He was about to refuse yet another offer for a sandwich when his cell phone rang. A name on the screen made him frown.

"It's him, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson asked when she noticed him hesitating, "Well go ahead and answer it."

John pressed the accept button and asked, "Sherlock, where are you?"

* * *

Mary pushed the door of the morgue open and entered the quiet room. There wasn't a soul in sight, making the sterile white room even more creepier then it already was.

Last time she was there Molly Hooper was present warming it with her very presence and her cheerfulness. How a woman who saw good in anything could work in a place where she could firsthand see the proof of evil that existed in the world was beyond her.

A soft voice was coming from the room on her right, from behind the double doors that led to a post-mortem examination room, and after a few seconds Mary Watson recognizes the person talking as just the person she was looking for.

She pushed the door slightly and entered the cold room, grateful that she still had her grey coat on. Molly was turned towards her but didn't notice her yet, since she was focused on the open cadaver on the slab.

"Molly?" she called the pathologist to get her attention.

Molly was rather proud at herself for not dropping a scalpel she was holding, she just took a shaky breath and looked at the blonde woman standing by the door.

"Mary, how are you?"

"Worried." Her visitor answered, approaching the slab slowly.

"Because of Sherlock? I knew he was capable of doing stupid things but this is… it's right up there with breaking into a government facility and jumping of a building." Molly sighed, "I don't suppose you came to tell me you found him?"

Mary shook her head, "I'm afraid not. I came for information; I hoped you might have a clue of where he might be. We checked all his bolt holes that we knew of and some only Anderson knew about but we didn't find a single trace of him being there recently."

"Anderson?" Molly was confused by that little detail.

"Yes, he's a fan apparently." Mary explained.

The pathologist opposite of her looked rather shocked, "When did that happen? Anderson couldn't stand Sherlock. Oh well, I heard stranger things. Anyway… bolt hole…"

"Yes." Mary suddenly seemed in a rush, "Do you know any?"

"Before, right after the fall, he stayed in my flat. The address changed since then but I suppose he may see my new one as one as well. But he wasn't there when I left. I only know of one other, it's in Leinster Gardens somewhere. He never said exactly where and I admit I never asked. Hope that helps when I can't. I was about to get dressed and help with the search when my boss called with the good news of my day off being canceled due to the mortuary being a bit short on staff."

"It's alright, we understand." Mary said and turned around to leave when Molly spoke again.

"You have a stronger stomach then some of the interns we had last month. Have you though about continuing your education and maybe becoming a doctor?"

Mary smiled, "One doctor in the family is enough." She placed a hand on the small swell of her stomach, "And who knows, maybe this one will follow his father's footsteps."

"It's a boy?" Molly asked with a wide grin.

"Sherlock claimed it was, not sure how he could possibly know that. Anyway, I'll let you go back to your job and meet with the search party. One of us will let you know when we find him."

* * *

Mary stopped on the corner of the street and looked around. There wasn't a living person in sight, no car passed by her since she exited the Bayswater Underground station and walked to the street Molly had pointed her to.

She considered there was a possibility she was on a wild goose chase and Sherlock wasn't anywhere in the area but she had to check, she had to talk to him before he got to John.

She loved John and hated the fact she way lying to him this entire time but she had no choice, not anymore. If she told him the truth now, or worse, if Sherlock did, then she would lose him. And that was something she couldn't allow.

Mary closed her eyes and took a deep yet shaky breath. If only… if only she was honest with John from the start. He was a solder, he would have understood.

She walked past the first house when the wind started to blow forcing her to button up her grey coat. She rarely wore it since she preferred the bright orange one, but she didn't feel like wearing such a cheerful color at such a moment, not when her entire future with John could go down like a house of cards.

A phone ring made her pause and look around. There was a homeless man on the other side of the street and the ringing seemed to come from his direction. But he wasn't reacting. Instead he crossed the road and stopped few feet from Mary who observed him with suspicious.

She read on John's blog Sherlock was really good at masking his identity but even he wasn't this good. Still, the fact remained the man was obviously there because of her.

"Mr. Holmes sends his regards." He mumbled and handed her the item he kept in his pocket, the source of the continuous ringing, before walking past her and into the night.

There was no name on the screen, only numbers, but Mary had a good memory. She remembered his phone number just as she remembered John's.

"Sherlock… this cat and mouse game really wasn't necessary." She said after accepting the call.

"_Oh, but it was. There are some things that shouldn't be discussed in a hospital room where anyone could overhear things that should remain a secret."_

"You can't tell him." She mumbled.

"_Stop me."_ Sherlock dared her.

Mary shook her head, "Where are you?"

"_You did a good job with a skip code… and with breaking into Magnussen's office. You'll have to reveal to me how you managed to do that some day. You are obviously smart, so finding me shouldn't be a problem. I'll even give you a hint. I'm in a place that is different. So take a good look around Mary Watson."_

* * *

Molly Hooper was completely unaware of what was going on in the strange house in Leinster Gardens. Yes, she was worried about Sherlock and his safety but she had faith in him. So she finished the post-mortem she started just before Mary came around and was finishing the paperwork so the body could be released to the family when her cell phone binged with a text message alert.

It was from Sherlock, he was telling her everything was going according to plan, he's with John and they are expecting the shooter to walk right into the trap soon.

Molly couldn't help but smile, Sherlock came a long way from that arrogant git that knew she was asking him out for coffee and made it seem like he misinterpreted her invitation for an offer to make him a cup.

Looking at the time on the phone she noticed it was just after 9 and if she wanted to be at Baker Street at the agreed time she needed to finish the paperwork and catch a cab. Usually she went with tube but tonight she decided to make an exception.

At the same time Mary Watson was entering the strange house in Leinster Gardens with every intent do anything she needs to do to ensure John never finds out about her secret. But as Sherlock sometimes says, there is always something.

This time that something was John. John who saw his wife shooting a coin she threw in the air, a skill he didn't know she possess, a skill he himself didn't possess. John who heard the woman who carries his child threatens and then pleads his best friend to lie to him, to conceal the truth. John who saw the devastation in the eyes of the woman he loves but obviously doesn't know as she realized he was there the whole time.

John who didn't know how to accept it all; who didn't understand what he did to deserve something like that.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson heard the front door opening and walked out of her flat to greet the newcomer. She was rather surprised to see it was Molly; the sweet pathologist that she hoped would soon become permanent resident in Baker Street. She was expecting John with the news he found Sherlock and made him return to the hospital where he belongs.

"Tea, dear?" she asked right away, seeing how tired Molly looked.

"That would be nice, Mrs. Hudson." She answered and followed the older woman upstairs, "I take it John and Sherlock haven't returned yet."

"No, not yet. Is there something I should know?"

Molly sighed, she didn't want to lie to the older woman but at the same time she didn't want to make her upset, she still remembered vividly rushing to the hospital when John informed her everyone's favorite landlady had a heart attack.

"Sherlock plans to confront his shooter tonight, that's why he ran away from the hospital." In the end she opted to just tell the truth.

"Oh, my… that boy sure gets into a lot of trouble. I really should have a word with his mother." Mrs. Hudson shook her head and walked in the kitchen.

Molly followed and took out the tea cups while Mrs. Hudson put the kettle on. But before the water even got warm the front doors of 221B Baker Street were opened with a bang and a set of footsteps could be heard marching upstairs, followed by two other sets.

It was just as Molly expected, just as Sherlock said, they managed to catch the shooter and… this was when Molly finally realized that made no sense. Why would they bring the shooter to Baker Street? And why would the person who fired at and wounded Sherlock even go with them anywhere? It made no sense.

That was until she saw John storm in the flat and kick a dining chair making Mrs. Hudson flinch. Behind John was Mary and the third person who entered the flat was Sherlock.

Three. That was the number of people she expected to see tonight in Sherlock's flat. And here they were. Sherlock. John. And the shooter.

"You figured it out, haven't you?" Sherlock asked Molly. He watched her closely from the moment she stepped out of the kitchen and recognized the exact moment she connected the dots. She was once more proving exactly how smart she was.

Molly didn't say anything, she never got the chance. She was cut off when John started to rant.

"I can't believe this! I can not believe this! What did I do to deserve someone like you?" he shouted at Mary who stood silently in a corner and just let him say everything he needed to say, "Am I such a bad human being that I deserve to be punished like this? To be lied to and deceived by a woman I lo… You know what? I don't think I can say it right now… I don't think that is even what I feel right now…"

"You do." Sherlock said and John twirled and looked at him like he's insane, "You love her."

"Shut up, Sherlock! Just… just don't talk right now!"

"But it's true. We all surround ourselves with people that are most similar to us." Sherlock insisted, completely disregarding his friends request to stay out of it, "You are a man of action. You crave adrenalin and adventures. Domesticity isn't your thing, you are trying for Mary's sake, but every once in a while you need to do something dangerous. That's why you went into a drug den, that's why you went with me when we were looking for that bomb. That's why you managed to see me as your friend."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" John responded and turned towards Mary again.

"Yes, he does." Molly said weakly. She didn't want to interfere but she felt like she should, "And I know too. We are similar John, much more then we first realized. We can't form social connections with people, not really. It's because we don't know how to relate to them. To a regular person the most exciting thing that happens is seeing a celebrity on tube. To us that's banal. Because we see things they don't. That's why our relationships don't work either."

"Molly…" John tried to warn her to stop but she cut him off.

"You need someone exciting, someone who understands your need for adrenaline. Any other woman would nag you about how dangerous your friendship to Sherlock is, Mary encourages it because she sees that being friends with Sherlock brings you the things you need in life. It's the same thing with me. And with Sherlock. We all need those who encourage us to do what we do best, not to hold us back."

"You chose her, John." Sherlock eventually broke the silence that followed Molly's words, words he agreed with wholeheartedly, "You knew she was different, you knew she was exactly what you needed in life. You just didn't realize it… you didn't know what made her just the right woman for you, but you knew that's exactly what she was. What she still is."

"I can't just go over this… I can't accept…"

"Than ask why." Mrs. Hudson suggested and four people turned to look the landlady what stood at the door to the kitchen, "In my experience people do things like this for a reason."

"And Mrs. Hudson would know this because she ran a drug cartel." Sherlock piped in.

"I didn't run it, my husband did. I was just typing."

"And performing as an exotic dancer." Sherlock had to have the last word.

"Really?" Molly asked the older woman with a wide smile.

"Not important, dear." She waved Molly off, something the pathologist didn't mind at all since that response pretty much said it all, and instead focused back on John, "Ask why."

John took a chair he previously kicked down and placed it in the middle of the sitting room, it was a movement he did countless times, but never in his worst nightmares did he expect to place it there for his wife.

"Sit." He instructed Mary who watched his movements with interest. When she didn't move from her spot he sighed, "You will sit here and Sherlock and I will sit in the armchairs. And we will do the same thing we do with everyone else who come to us. We will listen to your story and decide if your case is worthy of our time."

Molly remained on the sidelines but she didn't mind. She saw herself as an impartial observer, as a person who didn't judge before knowing all the facts. At least she tried. She couldn't accept that Mary Watson pulled the trigger and shot Sherlock, but she understood. At least there was that.

When Mary placed a flash drive at the small table Molly felt her heart break. A person's entire life should be more then just saved data and initials. But that is all there was from life Mary Watson led before coming to London.

"You believe Magnussen knows these things?" Sherlock asked.

"He implied… and made several remarks that were about things he shouldn't know. No one should know these things. But he did." Mary explained, "I would receive messages from time to time. Nothing threatening, just a reminder that he knows. Like the telegram on the wedding, the one sighed by C.A.M.."

"That's why you became friends with Janine. To get closer to him. To get access to his office." John concluded. She did the same thing Sherlock did.

"No. When I first met Janine she didn't work for him. She was just the girl that moved across from me soon after I came to London and started to work in the clinic. My friendship with her was merely a coincidence."

"The universe is rarely so lazy." Sherlock remarked and Mary looked at him.

"I am telling you the truth. I didn't want anything to do with Magnussen… I didn't want anything to do with my former life either. That's why I came to London. To start all over again."

"I accept that. But sometimes things are more complicated then they appear on first glance." Sherlock commented, "But, be as it is, I'll take it."

"Take it?" Mary asked confused.

"Your case." He elaborated, "Now, Mrs. Hudson, please do let those paramedics inside."

"What…" but before Mrs. Hudson managed to finish her sentence a loud banging was heard on the door downstairs and Sherlock leaned forward in his armchair and almost fell out.

The only thing that prevented it were good reflexes of both John and Mary who rushed to aid their friend. Their hands touched as they supported Sherlock's body while Molly ran down the flight of stairs before the older landlady even managed to turn around.

John looked at Mary as she supported part of the weight of the same man she gravely injured just a week ago and saw what he always saw. A woman he loved. That part hasn't changed, just like Sherlock said.

It was now only a matter of trust.

* * *

**Hope the chapter was worth the wait.**


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